Wanted--Dance, Princess
by Amber Everfor
Summary: Princess Febra hates being called Snow White. She's a warrior, dammit, who trains alone in the forest in scant costumes and flashes a little leg or cleavage in the village, until her literal witch of a step-mother orders a lusty huntsman to kill her. She finds refuge deep in the forest with seven small miners who want more from her than cooking and cleaning


An advance reader said this story reminded her of Game of Thrones. I hope that holds true for readers of this tale of the Two Kingdoms and the sensuous princess destined to unite them.

Unlike the previous stories in Hot Grimm and Hot Legends, there aren't a lot of folk tales suggesting the origins of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, except possibly Mary Magdalene, or the history of child labor in the Old World.

I made the men taller but not average, since I know the stigma some might feel simply because they're under 5'9".

So, think more gymnast for the seven men than munchkin, more Bart Connors than Billy Barty, and enjoy the sexual interludes, innuendos, intrigue and secrets of the Two Kingdoms.

* * *

The deer, ground creatures and birds gathered at the front of the cottage, drawn by the commotion of the unusually exited men and concerned for their favorite. She smiled at them as she grabbed a cloth from the table to wipe her hand.

The Dwarfs eyed her too but one stare was so intense, so hungry, she couldn't resist it. Her eyes met Grumpy's. Again, she felt naked in his sight and again, she liked it.

"Maybe she wants a break," he said, pulling his tunic over his head, revealing olive skin etched with a black anchor over one hard, round pectoral. He held her gaze, dropping his eyes and drawing hers to his tight breeches, bulging with muscle and cock. He took off his cap, allowing a mass of black hair to tumble out and splay over his bare shoulders. Grumpy wasn't handsome, with his flat, scarred face, but he was compelling. He sat in a chair facing her, legs spread wide, the lantern light concentrated on him. He rubbed his inner thighs, eyes like a wolf daring the maiden to look away. She gulped, her hand running slowly over the side of her leg.

Grumpy smirked at her and leaned over, his torso long, ridged with brawn and colored with another tattoo, a drawing she strained to discern. He came up with a small drum. He petted and tapped the skin for a slow beat, lifting and lowering his hips to it.

Febra bit her bottom lip and rotated her lower body with the tempo.

"That's right. Dance, Princess. Sneezy..."

Febra moved forward as a guitar began strumming in the dark.

"Get your flute, Bashful," Grumpy ordered, dictating Febra's motions with his drum and his vigor. She drifted past him, his stare continuous, both unnerving and empowering.

The windy melody went to her cluttered head as she weaved through the men, conscious of their eyes on her. To one who had always like a little display and tease, as she had, it was Heaven. She slid her hand over shoulders, nudged a body or two, a creature of Nature, seeming to take cues from the men and the animals.

She made her way back to the front as the drum became louder, harder and more demanding. She spun in front of Grumpy, eyes closed and arms spread wide. Febra raised her hands to the red ribbon binding her hair. She released it in a fall of black waves that skirted her shoulder blades and added a warm, flora and fauna perfume to the charged atmosphere.

She gripped her chest, her hands molding her breasts and bringing her nipples to prominence the way Derek had done. Her fingers grasped the laces of her top and pulled them down, loosing her bound breasts.

"Yes, Princess." Grumpy's soft growl made her squirm. "It's hot, isn't it? You can't move in it the way you want to. You want it off."

"Yes," she breathed, crooking her arms behind her shoulders to tug off Derek's tunic. When it was about halfway up her back, she twinged again with mischief. She bent toward Grumpy, her hands dangling over his groin.

The drum stopped. His breath was hot over her as he pulled off the tunic with one hand and tugged at her leggings with the other. She scurried away with a titter, seeking other faces in the darkness. She didn't see Derek, but sashayed over to Happy.

She turned away from him, wiggling her hips as she slid the waist of the breeches below them, inviting him to touch her. She leaned over to Bashful, sitting next to him, her breasts bouncing in his face while he blew and fingered his flute uninterrupted. The want for her wasn't as strong here. She started to wilt, until the slow hypnosis of the drum resumed, summoning her.

Febra returned to her place of origin, smiling and reassured, engulfed in the heat from the man before her. She leaned far over the table, its rough grain scratching breasts, and took the lantern by the handle. She delighted in its golden reflection on her always pale skin as she held it over her, illuminating her nudity for her audience.

She slinked over to the open door and winked at her rapt forest friends, as she set the lantern in the passageway. With the light on her alone, she turned from the men and bent over to pull down the breeches, her buttocks gleaming like a pearl

The guitar and flute played and a body pressed hard against her as she rose back up, hands confident and insistent over her.

"Grumpy?"

"Gustave," he growled, picking her up around the middle and dropping her on the table. He threw the breeches dangling from her ankle over his shoulder and pushed her legs far apart, pushing his mouth on her labia, his tongue inside.

"Ahhhh," she moaned while he laved. She glided her hands over her neck, stomach, breasts, and hips, wishing she had more hands.

The guitar strum ceased and then tongue and teeth tormented her left breast through a heaving snort. "Sneezy," she said with a smile, allowing him to take her hand and lead it to his hard, pulsing length.

She bounced her hips faster as Gustave plunged deeper, licking flames inside her. She lifted her legs to straddle his shoulders as he pinched her outer lips and drilled her inner cavern with his tongue. Her clitoris swelled until she thought it would burst. She shook, she rolled her head, she pumped Sneezy and pinched her other nipple. Tender hands massaged her head.

The flute's high note pierced her brain, bringing loss and crash of sensation. She screamed her ecstasy at the same timbre and wanted more.

"Roll over," grunted Gustave. She turned, spying an unattended groin at mouth level. She pulled down the pants and closed her lips on the shaft, to be met by a surprised chuckle. Happy.

Febra climbed to her knees and dedicated herself to making him come, while Sneezy slipped under her to continue nursing her breast and someone joined on the other side.

A cock slammed into her and she recognized Grumpy's grunt. She pushed back on it while still bobbing her head over Happy. Someone licked her feet and sucked her toes. And the flute played.

Orgasm upon orgasm rumbled through her. It was her dream of Lon and Derek, times three.

She swallowed Happy. Her cunt snapped on Gustave, as if wanting to hold him inside when he filled her. She nearly smothered her breast men as she collapsed on the table and sighed with contentment.

The flute no longer played, though the strum recommenced. She wiggled her naked body off the table, not conscious of anyone in particular. "I should go to bed while I can still climb the ladder," she giggled as she crossed the room to her loft.

She lifted one leg after another, intensely aware of every movement, before falling on the bed. A low beat, like a satisfied pulse, joined the guitar. Bathed in the light of the moon in the window by her bed, she hummed along with the serenade as she closed her eyes.

"Sleep, Princess."


End file.
